Hoofprints In The Snow
by TidePoolDevil
Summary: The small country town of Berk isn't much. And neither is Henry Haddock. Well, at least until the annual brumby cullings, when on a trip gone wrong he meets a stallion with one hell of an attitude. Set in the Australian Snowy Mountains. Rated T for swearing, possible violence (mild of course), teenagers and general lack of tact. Rating may or may not change.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Welcome to my new story everyone! :) Before I begin I'm just going to make a few things clear:**

 **1) This is set in a rinky dink Aussie town in the Snowy Mountains**

 **2) I know very little about the Snowy Mountains**

 **3) I know a lot about rinky dink Aussie towns**

 **4) Horses are horses, not pets**

 **5) I know that this particular kind of culling I mention is actually illegal, I actually did a lot of research on the topic, but for the sake of this story it's going to work this way.**

 **6) Whilst I did research the topic I didn't find _when_ cullings would be carried out. So I just filled in the blanks with my own knowledge and made educated guesses. **

**7) The Dragon (my other story) is still my first priority.**

 **Okay then, this was inspired by my love of horse related HTTYD fics. For two reasons:**

 **1) I love horses**

 **2) Most fics I've read on the topic are like Flicka and Phantom Stallion (I.e. Crap.)**

 **If you've grown up around horses and then read or watch something like those you can understand how annoying it is when someone butchers a good amount of a horse's behaviour.**

 **This is rated T because this may or may not include blood, a shit load of swearing and other things. (Rodeos can be a bit...gory)**

 **Please, enjoy the show, I am sorry if you live in the Snowy Mountains and I completely butcher your beloved home, but I live up North, in flat open area that hasn't been green for several years.**

 **If I owned HTTYD I would be living in a penthouse on the beach, own a riding school and of course, be a major movie producer. So yeah, I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter 1

}The Thrill of the Chase{

~Hiccup~

 _It was Winter again. Snow blanketed Berk and the surrounding mountains in a dusty bed of white. It was also the day of the annual brumby culling. Every year, all of Berk took out their guns and their helicopters and their horses and bikes. Then they traveled into the nearby mountains to cull the brumbies._

 _I hated it._

 _Some were kept alive if only to be sold to rodeos or used in our own, most were killed where they stood. I know. I've been once, last year. Dad made me go, much to the distress of Mum and myself. I rode in the helicopter with him, watched him take down horse after horse as they screamed in the white._

 _This time though, I was expected to shoot one myself. A brumby. I had to kill it and tag it, prove to my Dad that I was-_

"Henry!"

My pen clattered to my desk and fell to the floor, rolling under my closet.

"Coming." I called and shuffled around the room, gathering my breakfast dishes and scraps. I glanced around the room as if I wouldn't be coming back, and who knows, with my luck I'll probably run Thornado off a cliff. I padded into the kitchen, setting my plate by the sink and kissing Mum's cheek good morning.

"Hey Mum."

"Morning sweet heart." She gave me a one armed hug as Dad went about collecting his things for the culling. "You'll do fine." She gave me a sad half smile.

"That's what I'm worried about."

Mum scoffed and pulled me into a full hug, chin resting on the bridge of my nose. "I love you."

Dad scoffed by the door, scuffing his boots on the doormat. "He'll be fine Val. It's not like he's goin' off to war. Now come on boy, the sun will be up soon."

Mum smiled and handed me a brown paper bag and an apple. "Take these." I smiled and gently plucked them from Mum's fingers.

"Yes Dad." I sighed, hugged Mum goodbye and gathered my things. I set my akubra atop my head, wrapped a scarf around my neck and zipped up my vest. With a bandana over my nose and gloves on, I left the house, boots scuffing the pale snow.

We stopped by the shed and Dad handed me a rifle and a pack of ammunition.

"Make me proud." I nodded silently and hoisted the rifle over my shoulder, gathered Thornado's tack in my arms and left. I heard our horses breathing and stamping in their cold stables as I walked by, some even nickering as I passed. I mentally counted the stalls until I arrived at the right one.

"Hey Thornado, it's me." I hung the tack over a railing, before unlocking the top half of the stall door. Almost immediately the blue roan leaned his head over the bottom door, bumping my chest in his hurry to get out. "Nice to see you too."

I worked his head into the bridle, checking to see if it was too tight or pinching his mane. I unbolted the other door and led him out to tack him up. I brushed the frost out of his coat, the white falling out of his thick blue coat. I set the brush down and tacked him up, swinging a saddle blanket over his whithers and settling the saddle over the top. I checked my swag* was fastened tightly (in case I was caught out at night, who knows how far I'll go). I paused a moment, checking everything was tight enough and in the right place before putting my things in the saddle bags, fastening them securely closed. I swung up onto Thornado's back, the Quarter Horse shuffling as I did so. I patted his neck with a gloved hand before shortening the reigns and clicking him into action.

We trotted away from the stables and down the drive, watching Dad's ute kick up a cloud of mud and snow ahead of us. As we approached the grid I urged Thornado a little faster and leaned low over his neck. He jumped the grid and, at my urging, slowed to a trot. We went the opposite direction to Dad, following the road deeper into the mountains.

We alternated between trotting and walking, saving our energy. It took nearly an hour to reach the turnoff into open land, untouched by people. We followed the winding trail, barely discernible through the thin powder of snow. Icy trees drooped overhead, tangling in Thornado's mane and scratching the top of my hat. I kept a close eye on the maze of trees on either side of us, watching them for signs of life. A Currawong sang above us, greeting the watery Winter sun.

As we walked the sky grew pale and our surroundings became clearer. We startled a small wallaby and it hopped away, disappearing into the scrub. A Kookaburra laughed, the sound echoing through the mountains and seeming to come from all directions. When I was younger I always wondered why the culling happened in Winter. It didn't make sense until I realised that there would be less horses in Winter because of all the unborn foals. Pregnant mares were slower and easier targets. Food was often more scarce in the Winter and older horses would be weakened by the lack of food and the cold. The fact that stallions were so much harder to find was always trouble no matter what the season. There was usually only one stallion in a herd or mob of horses but there were more than a few loners. They stuck to themselves and often dwelled further in the mountains where it was harder to access.

A Magpie shrieked, startling me out of my reverie. I sighed and slumped in the saddle, resisting the temptation to drape myself across Thornado's neck and mope the rest of the trip. I fell into a half asleep daze for the next half hour or so. We continued on, my eyes burning from the cold and my brain fuzzy.

I pulled Thornado up short when a loud snap sounded beside us. I scanned the brush, slipping the rifle off my shoulder and cocking it, ready to shoot. A palomino mare stepped onto the path, her dugs swollen with milk but her belly small. She stared at me, with wide, liquid eyes. The poor creature probably lost her foal, born too early or dead. I lowered the rifle and backed Thornado up. He snorted and shifted on his feet. The mare seemed to thank me with her eyes and turned her head to nicker at something in the scrub. A tiny chestnut foal wobbled onto the path, legs far too long and body far too small. A white snip touched the tip of its nose, a perfect isosceles triangle. The colt** stumbled and bumped into its mother's leg, hindquarters slipping easily underneath his dam's*** chest. He was definitely born early, Spring was still another month and a half away. Thornado stamped and strained at the reigns, obviously reacting to the mare and her foal. Whether it was a good or a bad reaction was debatable.

"Go on." I nodded to the mare and she bobbed her head to nudge her foal back into the scrub on the other side. When I was sure they were gone I urged Thornado on and down the path.

* * *

We hadn't seen another brumby since little Snip and his dam and I was beginning to consider turning back. The sun was high in the sky, getting on towards late afternoon when we found ourselves a lookout. We were in a flat clearing and could see the folds of the white dusted mountains stretch towards the sky for miles. We were on a gently sloping plane that probably ended in a sheer drop. But my attention wasn't on the magnificent view or even the fact I should be getting back. No, it was on the black stallion. He was calmly cropping grass that was poking up through the snow. His thick winter coat was dusted with snow and mud and his mane was tangled with twigs, but he was a handsome thing. Long, muscular legs and powerful hindquarters paired with a gracefully arched neck and a slim, narrow face made him rather a sight to see.

The rifle weighed heavy on my shoulder and I shivered, but not from the cold. I didn't want to shoot him. I didn't want to shoot any of the brumbies. I didn't want _anyone_ to shoot the brumbies. The rifle slipped from my shoulder and into my hands as if by it's own volition. Dad would be proud, watching me go for this brumby. The hammer cocked back and I hesitated. But what would Mum say? What would _I_ say?

The wind changed direction and the stallion's head snapped up, nostrils flaring. He whipped his head around to face me and twin clouds of steam billowed around his muzzle. Thornado balked and in my rush to regain control the rifle went off. The stallion screamed and reared and in his panicked state, so did Thornado. I slipped from the saddle and landed hard on my hip. Pain seared in my side as I pulled myself to my knees...in time to see the stallion plummet off the outcrop.

* * *

 **AN: Mwahahaha! You want to know what happens don't you?  
**

 **Well too bad! You'll just have to wait and see.**

 ***Swag: Basically blankets and possibly a light mattress rolled in tough canvas. Classic Aussie right there.**

 ****Colt: A young male horse (young is under three years old)**

 *****Dam: A foal's mother.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hey guys. I'm expecting a few prompt whacks in the face with books and bricks today.  
**

 **I'm not going to apologise for that cliff hanger. Cause, whilst many of you may argue it was not necessary, I thought it was a great place to finish.**

 **Sorry for the ridiculously long wait, I've been...busy. And procrastinating. Hopefully next chapter will be up soon-ish. Don't expect any promises.**

 **OH! Language warning for all chapters from now on. Mostly mild stuff.**

 **Cheers.**

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Chapter 2

}He Jumped{

~Hiccup~

I gaped in utter disbelief at what had just transpired. The stallion just ran off a cliff. He just...splat. He...just _whoosh! Splat!_

"You saw that too right?" Thornado snuffled my boot, nudging it as if asking me to get up. I flopped onto my back, wincing at the discomfort in my side. "I can't believe it. And I didn't even want to shoot him and he just-"

I was cut off by an angry whinny, it was close and it shocked me out of my skin.

"Did you hear that?" I scrambled to my feet, not before slipping onto my arse in my hurry to get up. I stumbled forward on unsteady feet and saw that the clear lookout did indeed end in a drop. I leaned over the edge to get a better look and instead of seeing a black grease spot far down in a rocky ravine below us, the stallion was alive. The drop was only fairly short, maybe two or three meters and the black stallion glared up at me, snorting indignantly and pawing at the chilly earth. He was enclosed on all sides by natural stone walls, the whole...cove thing was on a slope, the other walls remaining out of view from anyone above. There was a small billabong in the center of the cove, shaded by droopy ghost gums and there were sprinklings of grass and common shrubs throughout.

I sat back on my heels, watching the stallion as he reared and turned to find his way out, satisfied with his glaring at me. He would find a way out. He was a brumby stallion after all. I let out a breathy laugh and stood.

"Lucky bastard."

Thornado was cropping tiny shoots of grass, completely unfazed.

"Well of course you don't care." I muttered sarcastically. I scooped up the rifle and made a noise of frustration in the back of my throat. It dripped mud and slush. "That'll take forever to get clean. Dad's gonna be pissed." I slung it over my shoulder and tied Thornado up in the shade of a droopy She-Oak and loosened the saddle girth a tad. I peeled my gloves off with my teeth and pulled a felt rag out of the saddle bags to wipe the gun, trying to give it _some_ illusion of being clean.

I exhaled through my nose when I was finished, severely worrying for my safety if Dad were to notice the dirty gun when I got back. I slung the strap over the saddle horn and moved to watch the stallion once more.

He was huffing and stomping angrily, charging the walls and trying to leap up, only to fall back onto the ground. I frowned but took solace in the fact the stallion had plenty of grass and water to get by for the next while. I mean...it's not like I could get a wild brumby out of there, let alone a stallion that size. I'd have better luck trying to get Dad to dance around in one of Mum's old dresses. Ha! I chuckled softly to myself at the thought. Yeah...it'd be better just to let him be. He'll find a way out...probably.

* * *

"Tough luck son. You'll see one tomorra." Dad clapped me roughly on the back, attempting to cheer me up after not having shot a brumby today, "afterall...there's still another week left of the season. Maybe try another section tomorra."

Mum watched us from the kitchen, brow creased softly, from worry or something else I couldn't tell.

Gobber chuckled loudly, flipping sausages and stirring gravy at the same time. "The buggers were probly too scared a ya. Heard a ya Dad's reputation an' bolted 'fore ya could get there."

Dad laughed boisterously. "A course Gob. I frightened 'em off on the boy. Ne'er mind Henry. Ya'll see one tomorra."

"...yeah. Maybe." I shrugged noncommittally, trying not to seem too conspicuous.

"That's the spirit. Now, Val, d'ya know where the beer is?" Dad seemed to shrug off the disappointment of today's hunt and looked to Mum expectantly.

"Fridge Stoick." She gave a small smile and stepped out of the road to come stand beside me. She curled a gentle arm around my shoulders and lead me away into the hall. She stood in front of me, narrow face pinched with concern. "Now Hiccup," I looked to the side when she used my old nickname, "I know it must be hard fer ya, missin' out on ya first today...but...just know...that no matter what happens...I'll always be proud of ya? Okay?"

"Okay." She pulled me into a hug and I relaxed into her warmth. "You can eat ya dinner upstairs tonight if ya want."

"Thanks Mum."

We pulled apart and Mum smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. "Look at you...almost as tall as ya Mum," she pulled me in for another hug, "you've got ya Father's height in ya."

I smiled awkwardly into her shoulder. It didn't always seem that way.

We broke apart once more to help Gobber serve.

* * *

I settled at my desk, my plate still wafting steam despite the cold seeping through the crack in the window pane. I flicked through my drawing book and stopped on an empty page. I picked up a pencil in one hand and started doodling on the page while half-heartedly eating with the other. Slowly I filled the page and another, and another. Until eventually my hand seemed to move in lazy circles, sketching soft curves and sloping lines. The shapes slowly took form, the pencil shading and the eraser cleaning up and leaving new highlights.

I leaned back and examined the picture, fingers tracing over the page, light as feathers. It was the stallion from earlier, with his thick black coat and knotted mane, his thick muscles and the pride with which he raised his head...He made a rather magnificent picture.

I cocked my head on the side and thought back to him, the great black stallion, he probably stood a few hands higher than Thornado. He was...something rather curious. Not a speck of white on his black coat. He was...rather a handsome thing. I stood and gathered my plate, walking out the room to take it downstairs. It would be a shame to leave him to die...maybe I'll check on him tomorrow.


End file.
